Angel of Music
by Hanna M
Summary: One shot. Erik dies, but that's only the beginning. Angels, music, and finally, a happy ending for everyone's favorite phantom.


Um, yes, well…I wrote this fanfic a while ago, but wasn''t really planning on posting in. However, someone decided that I should post it, and seeing as how she wanted to see it anyway, I decided, what the hell? I'll give it a whirl. So, yes. This is my first phanfic, and I'm not going to ask you to go easy on it, but any tips you had would be useful. Thanks!

Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux. The characters Alyssa and Chelsea belong to me, so please don't use them without my permission. Thank you.

I had finally died.

I had been expecting in for a long while. The heartbreak that was Christine's departure had left me bitter and empty. I no longer cared for the pleasures of my former life. No haunting mangers, no tormenting ballet rats. No, I poured all my anger and desolation into the only outlet that could possibly help: my music.

Time had lost its meaning, I was simply drowning in a sea of tortuous nights and meaningless music. But one night I do remember most clearly.

"She is dead, Erik."

Those words rang in my ears for the longest time, over and over again, until I wanted to tear the damn things off. My love, my angel, was dead. I would never see her again, never hear that angelic voice. She was safe in heaven, a place I could never hope to go.

I had cursed and ranted and wept for weeks on end. Then, as a final farewell, I left one last rose on her tombstone, and with it, the ring she had left on that fateful night so many years ago. As I left the cemetery, I had the…pleasure…of seeing Raoul de Chagny one last time.

I had felt the familiar stirrings of murderous rage, and more than a little triumph at seeing the boy in a wheelchair, while I could still move around of my own will. Slipping away before he could see me, I returned to my dwelling beneath the opera house.

I had suddenly felt unbearable shame and sadness as I looked in the mirror. I wore no wig or mask-what need did I have for them anymore? My hair had managed to stay blond, although to my disappointment, not any fuller. I picked up the mask from on top of the organ and stared at it.

"You fool," I thought miserably. "You're going to die, and go to Hell, and you know it. You deserve it. You knew that something as divine as Christine could never tolerate something as _blasphemous_ as you.

I slipped the mask on, knowing that there was no point in hope any longer. I fell asleep. And I died.

Good Lord, child, don't agonize over it so! It is, after all, only the beginning! And why should I have been forced to stay in a world where people don't recognize the true beauty of the music of the night? Where to be accepted you have to have a normal face and a perfect life? Where those ignorant fools cannot even spell my name right? It's a _k_, damn them all, a _k!_

Now calm, down, cheri, you are trembling.

Now, as I was saying, I went to sleep. It was then that I knew I would die, because in my sleep, I heard a conversation. And I must say, it wasn't exactly normal. It sounded as though a girl was speaking to her father in the most disrespectful tone I had ever heard from a girl that age, with a brother trying to calm her down.

"_No, no _NO_! This absolutely will _not do_! How can you-after all that he's done-even consider sending him into such a thing? This _will not stand_! Your awareness of justice is _laughable_, my lord! I have watched him for all his life, giving him the attention you _never did! _And now you are going to give him a choice that is barely a choice at all because he made a few mistakes? You _never helped him! _His life has simply been one misery after another!"_

"_Do not question your Father, Chelsea," said a male's voice. "He knows what is best-"_

"_Let her speak, Gabriel," said an amused voice. "After all, her reputation for debate is Heaven and Earth renowned."_

"_Thank you, Father. Now, I know perfectly well what your rules say-when someone dies bitter and alone, or with an unfinished purpose they become a ghost, they reside in limbo. And if the person is evil, they go to Hell. But, you must admit, this is a special case. This man-he never even got a chance! He was never truly happy! He could never be normal! You didn't acknowledge him! _You forgot one of your own flock!

"_Steady Chelsea," said the young male's voice, sounding a bit panicked._

"_I _demand_ that he be brought to heaven. Would you have that beautiful music be lost to the world forever?"_

"_Would you be willing to give up Heaven for it?"_

I tossed and turned in my sleep, longing to see the faces to which the voices belonged.

"_Send me to the depths of Hell, Father, I care _not! _Just bring this man home! Let him have some peace! Do not condemn him to this solitude for all eternity!"_

"_Chelsea," the young boy moaned again._

There was a long pause where I could sense the tension in the air.

"_Well, my angel, I'm willing to make a bargain with you."_

"_Yes, Father?"_

"_I will bring this man to Heaven, per your request. But, you will not leave your halls again for another thousand years. Are you sure you'll be able to stand it?"_

"_I'll do what I have to. Now bring him _home_!"_

When I woke up, for lack of a better term, I was sitting in a garden full of roses. There was a white fog everywhere, bit it wasn't stifling. Everything was so bright it hurt my eyes. Some of the roses were pink, some white. The one growing in front of me was a deep, crimson red. Glancing around, I realized that it was the only one of that color. I wandered around for a bit, content to just be surrounded by the flowers.

It was then that I felt a light tug on my sleeve. I turned to see a small blonde girl, no more than six or seven years old. She smiled shyly up at me, her cerulean blue eyes peering up at me through long, dark lashes.

"Are you Monsieur Erik?" she asked in a breathy, girlish voice. I peered down at her a moment before finally answering.

"Yes, that is my name. Pardon me, but where am I? And who are you?"

She giggled, a pretty sound that seemed to fill the whole space. "My name is Alyssa. I'm the gardener." She sat down on a white bench, her hair spilling over the shoulders of her white gown.

"Do you like that rose, Monsieur Erik?" she asked suddenly, pointing to the lone crimson bud. I contemplated it for a moment, then answered,

"It is beautiful, I suppose."

"One crimson rose amidst a sea of pink and white. You've seen red roses before, of course, but doesn't that one seem more beautiful than all the rest?"

I sighed. "You speak of me, yes?"

She shook her head like a confused child. "I was talking about roses." We sat in silence for a moment. "I want to give you that rose, Monsieur Erik," she chirped happily, swinging her legs in front of her.

This small gesture was enough to bring tears to my eyes. No one had ever wanted to give me anything before. They took plenty, yes, and I could threaten what I wanted out of the idiots at my opera house, but no one had ever _wanted_ to give me anything. "Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome!" she exclaimed. She laughed again and walked over to the rose.

"I've always found it so odd, the way humans give roses," she said earnestly. "They simply cut it off, can you imagine?"

I shifted guiltily in my seat.

"How much more _wonderful_ it would be," the girl continued, "if it was left _alone_. Imagine a rose, growing just for you. Wouldn't that make you happy, Erik?"

I felt a few tears fall. "I think," I said quietly, "that would make me very happy indeed."

She came over and put her slender hands on either side of my face. "Why, Monsieur Erik!" she exclaimed, "Don't be sad! It's time to be happy. Not _everyone_ gets into heaven, you know."

Well, that confirmed it. I was dead. And someone had pulled some strings to get me into heaven.

"Well, of course you're dead. Dreams can't be this happy! Now, to the gate!" Alyssa cried happily, taking my hand and dashing off through the garden.

"But I rather like it _here_, I said as we left the garden.

"You'll like it better where you're going, I promise you," she laughed. "This is just the garden. God has a plan for everyone, didn't you know?"

She stopped suddenly, and I nearly fell over myself trying to make sure I didn't knock her over.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Gold gates shimmered through the white mist, stretching as high as the eye could see. A portly man with jet-black hair and a blue robe marched over to me.

"Is this him?" he asked Alyssa curtly.

"Yes, and I'm sure Father told you about the special circumstances. He will go in, yes?"

"Yes, yes, he's cleared. My, Chelsea does jump in without thinking. I suppose that's the way it is with musicians, yes? It does seem to be a common trait."

It took a lot of self restraint, but I refrained from using one of my famously witty statements on this man.

"Why aren't I in Hell?" I asked. Yes, yes, I know it's articulate. I'm a genius. May I continue?

"Well…" the man produced a book with gold binding and flipped through a few pages. "Where are the E's…ah. Yes. Well, says here you aren't in Hell because you're not evil, and you are not in limbo because, quite frankly, you had an angel watching over you. And understand," he said, looking at me, "that I mean that _literally."_

Alyssa made to go back to the garden. "Do promise to come and visit me sometime, won't you?" she asked. "You must see how your rose is doing, yes?"

I nodded at her. "Of course, my dear, of course."

She laughed and ran off, her bare feet pattering against the grass. St. Peter, as I could only assume he was, beckoned to a blond angel standing nearby.

"Take Monsieur Erik to Chelsea's hall, and that will suffice," he said with authority. "You're lucky," he added aside to me, "that you caught her on a good day."

The boy nodded at St. Peter and set off, indicating that I was to follow. I did so reluctantly, sticking my long hands into the pockets of my black coat. After about ten minutes, we arrived at the door to a large white building. To my surprise, I heard a gentle melody of a piano floating through. I was led through a dimly lit hall, a welcome relief from all that light. When my eyes readjusted, I found we were standing in the room from which the music was coming from.

The room was filled with candles, casting a bright but warm glow around the room. There was a simple desk and two chairs, along with the piano. At the piano sat what could have only been an angel, but it was a pitiful sight.

Her dress was torn and stained, turning what was most likely a white gown into a gray and brown color. Her wings were dusty, the feathers of it looking old and wilted. I gasped as I saw the brown curls cascading down her back. Of course, my immediate thought was, "Christine!" but I realized this could not be so. She was too short, her hair was too red. And if I could recall correctly, this girl's name was Chelsea.

At any rate, the girl hadn't noticed us yet, seemingly wrapped up in the spirited, cheerful melody that she was playing.

"Chelsea," The blond angel said. He received no answer, so he raised his voice. "Chelsea."

The music pounded on.

The boy sighed, walked over to her, and stooped down next to her. _"Chelsea!"_ he bellowed. The girl squealed and toppled off the bench. I raised an eyebrow.

The girl stood up huffily and turned around. "I thought I _told_ you not to interrupt me when I'm pl-"

She froze at the sight of me. My hand instinctively moved up to make sure my mask was in its proper place. Her face split into a radiant smile.

"Yes, yes, thank you Gabriel," she said, ushering the boy out the door and shutting it. She turned to me.

"Erik?"

"Yes, Madame, my name is Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, the Angel of Music, et cetera, et cetera. Who are _you_?" I asked.

The girl smiled. She looked no older than seventeen, probably younger. "My name is Chelsea, if you didn't hear Gabriel scream in loud enough just now. I'm the _other_ Angel of Music."

It is not very often in my life (or death for that matter) that I have the extreme displeasure of being surprised. This was, undoubtedly, one of those times. I found myself simply speechless, gazing at her and trying to find something articulate or witty to say.

"Would you like to sit down?" she asked politely, pointing to a chair in front of her desk. I did so, noting that all the papers were covered in music and empty staffs except one. I looked at it curiously, and noticed that it was seemingly a contract of some sort.

"No need to look at that," she said cheerfully, making it disappear with a small pop. She moved to sit behind her desk, missed the chair, and landed on the floor with a loud crash and much scuffling of papers. I raised my eyebrow again.

The girl pulled herself up, laughing uncontrollably.

"Sorry," she choked, still laughing, "I'm a bit scatterbrained."

"Indeed?" I asked. "So, enlighten me, who determines that the Angel of Music is a fifteen year old girl?"

"Fifteen and a _half, _and do try not to question God. You see where _that_ gets you," she said, waving a hand around the room. "Besides, it make my brain hurt." She laughed again.

"What am I doing here?" I finally questioned.

"I'm _glad_ you asked that!" she said triumphantly, standing up abruptly and sending some pens scattering across the floor. "Whoops. At any rate, I'm glad you asked that. You see, I've simply been waiting for you to _finally _come-not that I _wanted _you to die, yes, nasty business, that-but now, I can finally make you happy, seeing as how someone didn't think to do so."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

The girl looked at me, tapping her pen against the desk. Then she sat up and folded her hands on her desk.

"Look, Erik, to be perfectly honest you weren't supposed to-"

"I know."

The girl looked shocked. "I'm sorry?"

"I heard you talking. You…can't leave for another thousand years, yes?" I looked her straight in the eye. "Why would you do that for someone like me?"

"Whatever do you _mean_, someone like you?" she asked. "You mean, the greatest musician who ever lived? Good heavens, who _wouldn't_?"

I studied her. "I don't understand."

She sighed. "Erik, I know you. I've been watching you ever since you were born. Your life hasn't been pleasant, and that's an understatement. At any rate, when I heard that you wouldn't be coming to see me, I became distressed and made one of my rather famous rash decisions. _But,_" she added, "just because it was a rash decision doesn't mean I regret it.

"But…why would God punish you…just for wanting to help me?" I asked sadly. "Why make such a sacrifice?"

"You don't think brown's my color?" she asked, laughing. "Really, you quite insult me!"

I smiled and shook my head. "No. It looks…beautiful."

And _why_ are you still wearing that?" she asked, gesturing to my mask.

"What do you mean, why?" I whispered. "I can't believe they even let me into heaven with this _face_."

"Beauty's only skin deep, yeah yeah yeah, beauty's only skin deep, whoa yeah," she sang quietly, tapping out a rhythm on her desk. She trailed off, looking at me. "But that's not for another 45 years, so it'll be our secret, yes?" she asked, smiling again.

"You haven't answered my question," I said. What am I doing here?"

"Well," she began happily. "It seems I've been outdone as the Angel of Music."

"Are you referring to me?" I asked, astonished.

"No," she said sarcastically, "I'm referring to Raoul de Chagny." She immediately ducked behind her desk as I felt one of those temperamental outbursts coming on.

"Okay, bad choice of words," she squeaked, peeking up from under her desk, "But of course I'm referring to you, O genius of the Opera."

I waved a hand dismissively. She settled herself back into her chair.

"Now, if we're done with stupid questions, I shall continue."

"The Angel of Music has a puerile brain," I mused quietly. "Who would have thought?"

"As I was _saying_," she said, "I want you to help me."

"Help you…with what?"

"With my job!" she exclaimed. "Like I said, I've been outdone as an Angel of Music, and I was thinking, we could work as partners, of sorts."

"I see. And what, pray tell, would this job _entail_?"

"Well, you write music, and you play it. Difficult, yes?" she said, grinning. "And we get to invent all different kinds of music, and it's _fun_!" In fact, we've got a fantastic kind of music coming in America soon called _swing. _Lots of brass and piano. Fun to dance to as well!"

I considered it for a moment. "And what if I say no?"

"What about it? You sound too excited to say no, of course, but I'm not sure what you're asking."

"If I say no, will I go to Hell?"

"Well, no, not in the terms you're thinking. But wouldn't life without your music basically be your Hell?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Alright then. Er…yes what?"

"Yes to both. Yes, it would be hell, and yes, I'll help you."

The girl cheered and clapped her hands. "Jolly good, Erik! Knew you'd come around! Now, we've got muse work to do!"

"May I ask a question?"

"You have, of course, already done so. But you may ask another."

"How good are you at violin?"

The girls face immediately reddened. "Well, I ah…um. Yes. Well, I don't really know how to play it."

I raised an eyebrow. She glared.

"Look, just because I'm an angel doesn't mean I can pick up any instrument and play it!" she burst out. "No need to be so _superior_-"

"I'll teach you." I offered. She cut short, surprised. "Oh. Um. Well…yes. Th-thank you." She stammmered.

"Well, as you say, we have muse work to do, yes? Perhaps we should start. I'm quite interested to see this _swing."_

"Right then," she said, falling over as she got out of her chair. Clumsy child. "Onward!" she cried! Rushing out the door.

She tripped over the threshold. I smiled as I followed her out.

Maybe I was home, after all.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I know that the idea is a bit abstract, and heaven really is a difficult setting to write in, but I feel I did my best.

Points I liked: I really adore Chelsea's character. I love the idea of having a clumsy angel, and I especially like the idea that Erik could intimidate the Angel of Music herself.

Points I didn't like: I know I didn't write Erik's character that well, and I beg of you to forgive me for that. It's my first attempt, and it was a bit hard to imagine what Erik would act like in Heaven.

Again, thank you very much for reading, and your input would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
